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The balance between Good and Evil has always been a fragile, precarious thing, sometimes favoring one side, sometimes the other, but you and your angel brethren strive to maintain the proper equilibrium. And while the demons that oppose you might seem to take a malicious joy in undermining your good works, you know that somewhere deep in their black hearts, they understand it is necessary for both right and wrong to exist, for one cannot be without the other.
But lately there has been an unsettling discord in the air, the seeds of chaos being sown in a pattern that can only be deliberate. A meeting of the angels is assembled, and it is you who is chosen to be dispatched as an emissary, with strict orders to do whatever is needed to bring the Demon King to heel. It is a role you have filled countless times over the centuries, and experience has taught you that while there are many ways to appease the King, there is one particular method that tends to be the most effective.
And it is, you will admit, a method that you yourself do not find in any way unpleasant. Quite the contrary, you think, as you make your way into Demon territory.
No one stops you as you march into the King’s lair, less powerful demons lowering their eyes and cowering as you pass by, immediately recognizing your status. It is only when you reach the King’s throne room that his strongest henchman stand in your way, guarding the door.
“He’s busy,” says one.
“Not to be disturbed,” adds another, with a haughty disdain, and you glare at him, raising your arm in warning. He stands his ground, and so you smile, gesturing lightly with your hand and watching with some satisfaction as he is swiftly propelled through the air, slamming into the nearest wall, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap.
“Anyone else?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, and the others quickly back away. “Thank you,” you intone politely, walking towards the door, and though you are tempted to use your powers to blast it open in the most spectacular manner possible, you instead take a breath, composing yourself and turning the handle carefully.
This might technically be the throne room, but there’s no actual throne, because the Demon King prefers a more appropriate symbol of his sovereignty, the entire space being dominated by a large bed that is covered in red and black silk throws.
And at this moment, it’s also covered in naked women; all young, all beautiful, and all draped over a man that can you barely see amongst all the human flesh on display, but you don’t need to see the Demon King.
You can feel him.
And he can feel you, you know, because he instantly raises his head, and a slow, delighted smile spreads over his face. “Well, well,” he says, in that deep, lazy voice, “if it isn’t my favorite angel.”
“Can we speak?” you ask.
“Sure thing, baby,” he drawls out, and though you bristle at the presumptuous informality of that last word, you don’t rebuke him, only watching as he snaps his fingers at the women. “Outside,” he orders, and though they mewl and whine in protest, they obey, filing out of the room, some pouting, some giving you angry, jealous looks as they walk past you.
But then they’re gone, and you close the door, locking it behind you, murmuring a binding spell under your breath to make certain no one will interrupt you.
The King sits up, legs spread wide, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his bent knees. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of fitted black leather pants, and you have to stop yourself from staring between his thighs, trying to see the outline of what you know is there, waiting for you.
“So,” he says, “what’s on your mind?”
You sigh, bringing your mind back to business. “Why are your minions suddenly stirring up discontent?”
“They are?” he replies, carelessly. “I didn’t know that.”
“Please don’t lie to me, Damian,” you say, pointedly ignoring how he smiles when you say his name. “I have to believe you know me better than that.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I just wanted to see you,” he says. “You know how I love it when you descend from on high to give me a nice talking to.”
“Talking?” you say, as if innocently puzzled, tilting your head a little. “I thought you preferred it when we didn’t talk.”
He laughs, throwing his head back, his eyes almost glittering in the light of the room as he looks at you, climbing off the bed, standing close in front of you, so tall and beautiful it takes your breath away.
He doesn’t say anything, but he reaches out, his hand gentle on the back of your neck, stroking, sliding down, his fingers caressing at the space between your shoulder blades.
“All this time,” he says, softly, “and you’ve still never shown me your wings.”
“And I never will,” you tell him.
“Aw, baby.” He shakes his head, his sadness mockingly false. “That hurts me, to hear you say that.”
“I know what you’d do,” you tell him. “Cut them off, mount them on your wall as a trophy. I know you.”
“I’m sure I’d never do such a thing.” His hand spreads wide on your back, his palm hot through the fabric of your dress, and he moves it lower, until it’s sitting just above your ass. “But if I did…” You hear him breathe in, his eyes turning black for just a split second. “Then you’d belong to me, forever, and I’d have you all to myself, until the end of days.” He looks at you. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
“I can’t imagine anything worse.” You shift just enough to grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from you, gripping it tight, watching his expression. He’s fighting you, you can feel it, see it in his face, and it takes all your strength to maintain your hold on him, but you do, not releasing him until he gives in, relaxes in your grasp. He rubs his wrist slightly, smirking at you, because it only ever seems to please him, that you can hurt him, and you smile.
“I think the time for talking is over,” you say, your hands in the center of his chest, pushing him down onto the bed. He doesn’t resist you, staring up at you as you slip off your dress, letting it fall aside like water, standing naked before him.
He licks his lips, lust emanating off him in waves, almost distorting the air around him. “My pretty, pretty angel.”
“Not yours,” you reply. “Never yours.”
“No,” he says. “Mine. Just for a little while.”
He lies back, and you crawl up over him, sitting across his thighs, unlacing his pants. His cock is hard in your hand, and you stroke it, holding it, guiding the thick length of it into you, lowering yourself down until he’s fully inside you.
“Oh, baby,” Damian moans out. “You feel so good.”
You rise up, holding yourself there for just a moment before you plunge back down onto him, and you keep moving, riding him. There’s always a strange magic to it, when the two of you join like this, good and evil meeting to become one, power swelling up inside you like something fierce and intoxicating.
His hands are on your hips and you interlace your fingers through his, forcing his arms back, pinning them either side of his head, leaning forward so you can take all that you need, endless and eternal.
You always finish at exactly the same time, so many years of practice meaning you’re perfectly in sync with each other, you crying out just as he moans, his body arching up to meet yours as he spills himself inside you.
You feel it, the heat of it, and just for a second his essence runs through you, dark and deliciously unfamiliar. A shudder echoes in your head, dread shot through with pleasure, but it passes, and you take a deep breath, serene.
You move off him, lying down beside him, curling content into the long length of his body, and for what feels like a long while neither of you speak, but then you kiss him. “You know,” you say, “if you want to see me, you just have to ask.” You kiss him again, softer this time. “You don’t have to cause trouble to get my attention.”
He smiles at you, lunging forward to gently nip at your bottom lip with a playful growl. “But I like trouble,” he says, rolling over onto his stomach. You run one fingertip along the outline of the tattoo that covers his back, a skull that is not a skull, filled with incantations. His skin sparks a little at your touch, the power of the connection you’ve made not yet faded in its magic.
“But you’ll behave yourself for now?”
He shrugs. “For now,” he says. “Until I get lonely again.”
You smile at him fondly. “What about all those girls that were here when I arrived? Can’t they keep you company?”
“No one does it like you, baby girl.” He smirks at you. “Nothing like that sweet little angel pussy of yours.”
“Don’t be crude,” you scold him, but he only laughs.
“And you know,” he says, “I think I’m feeling lonely again.” He shifts his hips, rubbing himself up against the bed. “Right now.”
“Already?” You shake your head. “You’re insatiable.”
He grins at you. “That’s why I’m the King,” he says, one arm pulling you closer. “Now, come here.”